Frederick Laughton - Bookstore for boys

Jennifer Watson drummed her fingers impatiently on the counter and with a sour expression regarded the expensively bound hardback book, featuring on the cover a statue of Aphrodite, that lay out before her. Then she lifted her eyes to the swarthy and somewhat shifty-eyed distributor who stood waiting before her. She was briefly but acutely aware that his attention had been focused not on the book, nor on leer face even. He'd been leering lasciviously at the fully upthrust mounds of her breasts, breasts whose inviting shape could not be concealed even in the most modest of blouses.

The twenty-four-year-old blonde scowled in irritation, and across from her Lou Kelly smiled.

"I've told you, Lou," Jennifer began tiredly. "I don't know how many times I've told you. I'm not turning this bookstore into some kind of Scandinavian sex shop. And that's that."

"Honey," Lou said, slurring the word slightly to reveal not surprisingly that he'd done more drinking than eating during his lunch. "This is different. This is the hottest selling item in town right now."

"I don't care. And don't call me 'honey'. Moby Dick hardly even sold while Melville was alive and it's the American classic. Sales mean nothing. I mean, there's no relation between appeal and quality. I opened this shop because I wanted to offer good literature to this neighborhood, and God must know as well as you that that's something these people have rarely been subjected to. There's a junior high school a block down the street and this store is full of those kids every afternoon. That's not the kind of book I want them to find here."

"It's not that kind of book," Lou said with conviction. Then he grinned, wickedly, lecherously. "And anyway, if you think those little fuckers come in here because they're interested in high class literature…"

"Lou!" Jennifer hissed, again conscious of the man's eyes roving over her voluptuous young body as though to illustrate the meaning of his remark. But the telltale flush that heated her cheeks would have been enough to let him know that she recognized the truth in what he'd said. And it was true. She'd grudgingly admitted that some time ago. Evidence made the fact inescapable. Every afternoon around three, the shop was flooded with thirteen and fourteen-year-olds. Most of them were boys. They rarely bought books, and many of them displayed little interest in even looking at them. But they did look at Jennifer. Sometimes she even overheard their crass remarks. It was at times embarrassing, at times infuriating, and commonly the young owner felt almost like a piece of meat on display in a butcher's showcase.

But ever since she was a young girl, devouring everything of taste and quality she could find to read, Jennifer had regarded good writing almost with a reverence. And she told herself that if, as a result of their prurient interest and curiosity in her, even one of these generally lower-middle class youngsters was able to develop an appreciation for literature, all the discomfort she suffered would be worth it. She carried out this rationalization somewhat as a stern missionary's sexy looking wife might allow herself to be goggle-eyed by a band of heathen savages, rationalizing her becoming the object of their impure thoughts and desires with the trust that their proximity to her scripture-touting husband would lead eventually to the saving of their eternal souls.

Yes, Jennifer realized, it was with a reverence that she regarded great writing. It was indeed partly that reverence that had lead her to marry a young man considered by many critics to be the most promising American fiction writer to appear on the scene since the 1920's. And though this was something she'd tried to avoid admitting to herself, it was to some extent her feeling that by commercializing his last and most successful novel he'd violated the trust of his God-given talent and had precipitated the two of them into a premature divorce.

"Hit a little too close to home with that one, huh?" Lou Kelly asked to interrupt her reverie.

"No, Lou, you did not hit close to home. I was thinking about something else."

"Stephan, maybe. You know, there's some pretty sexy stuff in his book."

Again Jennifer's face flushed. She followed the distributor's gaze to the display of her ex-husband's latest novel, and as she did so she remembered something that caused a little flutter of nausea to begin deep in the pit of her stomach. That, she thought. My God, I wonder if I will ever be able to forget that.

"Look, baby," Lou said, reaching across the counter to put his hand on Jennifer's bare arm below the sleeve of her blouse. "I've got a big nice display poster for The Joy of Sex. Let me set it up for you in the front window, with six sample copies. Just see how it goes. Then next week you can place your order. If you're going to keep this place open you've got to sell something every once in a while. Okay?"

There was a certain truth in that, Jennifer remarked mentally to herself. But that had nothing to do with her answer. She was just tired of arguing, and now she had something else on her mind anyway. "All right, Lou. Set up the display. I guess if my adult readers want to read that stuff I have no right to say they can't."

"Thatta girl," Lou said.

But the man made no move toward the task. He stood where he was, his eyes again roving hungrily over Jennifer's young shapely body.

"Well?" she said after a moment, her irritation showing in her voice.

"Let me treat you for dinner and… uh… you know, a good time."

"No! Can't you get that through your thick skull?"

"You'll come around. You're just playing hard to get," Lou paused, smiling lecherously. "What's the use of starving yourself for what every woman needs? Your ex-hubby's sure not missing out on any fun with those movie starlets hanging all over him."

"Set up that damned display of yours and get out of here!" Jennifer hissed. Then, to the raucous laughter echoing behind her, she turned and stalked through the door into the back of the shop, where she maintained a little living room-kitchenette in which she could cook or even sleep on the fold-out couch, should the impulse strike her. She passed on through into the bathroom, seizing a brush from the cabinet and beginning to tear almost viciously at her long blond hair.

Damn that creep, Jennifer thought bitterly. But it was true, what he'd said about the movie starlets. She knew that only too well. She'd seen it with her own eyes and even now she trembled to recall the shocking scene she'd encountered the night she'd come back to their suite in the Ambassador, where Stephan was negotiating the sale of his second novel to the movies, and found him in bed with the two young screen hopefuls. It hung now before her eyes, a stark and shattering vision of squirming naked bodies, trembling breasts and waggling buttocks and wildly scissoring thighs.

And that had been the catalyst. That had been the last straw that had driven her to leave, to break off their marriage.

"Sure you won't reconsider dinner?"

Jennifer started at hearing the voice behind her. She turned and peered through the open door to the curtained entrance of the bookstore proper, where she could see that Lou Kelly had come behind the counter and stood again leering at her, seeming to relish the glistening tears that streaked her cheeks.

"Get out of here, Lou," Jennifer said in a low, cracked voice. "Just get out of lore and leave me alone."

Kelly shrugged and turned and left. Seething with bitterness, Jennifer pivoted back to the mirror. She took a towel from the rack beside the washbasin and carefully dabbed the tears from her cheeks, then applied just the most conservative amount of make-up to mask her red eyes. As she was finishing, she heard the jangling of the bell that warned the front door of the shop was opening. The following chatter of young male voices informed her that the first of the afternoon school crowd had arrived.